Code Fragments
by LadySmith
Summary: A collection of Matrix drabbles and ficlets. Latest Chapter: "Growing Pains" Smith's first hours on board the Caduceus with Bane WARNING: Raiting for violence and mature themes, including self-inflicted cuts.
1. Soaked

Title: Soaked

Character: Smith  
  
Synopsis: The calm before the storm. Before their final confrontation, Smith waits for Neo. Set during Revolutions.  
  
Spoilers: Minor Reloaded and Revolutions Spoilers.

**Soaked**

Smith stood in the street, every street; in the apartment buildings, in the offices, in the parks, everywhere. And he waited.  
  
The rain fell on him, ran in heavy streams over his face. It impacted on his head, ran under his sunglasses, around his nose, over his lips and into his collar. It soaked into his jacket, his shirt, his pants, his briefs. It was even sufficient to have soaked into his leather holster cradling his Desert Eagle. The code forming his apparel was thoroughly and completely permeated with the rain, almost as if it had become part of him.  
  
Had he bothered to actually watch the rain as he was waiting, he may have noticed its similarity to code as it fell; steady, rhythmic, ever shifting, perfectly ordered in its seeming chaos. Looking between the falling streams, he would see himself.  
  
He was, however far too occupied with his Purpose.  
  
Waiting. 


	2. Unplanned Obselescence

Title: Unplanned Obsolescence.  
Fandom: Matrix  
Characters: Agent Jones and Agent Brown  
Genre: General  
Rating: G  
  
Synopsis: Whatever happened to Jones and Brown? Set after The Matrix and before Final Flight of the Osiris.

A/N: I stole the conventions of Mainframe transmissions from Tanathir's Conversations With Smith. This fic is dedicated with respect and admiration to Misters Paul Goddard and Robert Taylor, who made of two bit parts memorable characters.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Agents. The Warner and Wachowski Brothers do.

**Unplanned Obsolescence**

Jones tilted his head to the side, and brought his hand up to his earpiece. He stood stock still, listening. Across the room he could see Brown doing the same, and knew what he was hearing.  
  
[...units 1000110001100010 (Agent Johnson), 1000110001100011 (Agent Jackson), and 1000110001100110 (Agent Thompson) are ready...]  
  
"They're ready" Brown said. "We have to go."  
  
Jones gave an almost imperceptible scowl. Almost.  
  
"Is there a problem?" Brown's voice was as calm as ever. Why wouldn't it be?  
  
"No." Brown raised an eyebrow at Jones' tone. It could almost be described as... curt.  
  
Jones inhaled slowly and released it equally slowly. Brown tilted his head at this. There were no production units or even resistants around. Why would Jones activate his respiratory subroutine?  
  
"Why did you do that?"  
  
"Do what?" Jones' tone was well within the parameters that would identify a human's as "curt".  
  
"You are behaving erratically, Jones. Your behavior is becoming similar to..."  
  
Browns stopped short as Jones' look silenced him, reminding him of their unspoken agreement. They never mentioned _him_.  
  
Suddenly, alarmingly, Jones's face split into - 'sardonic grin' seemed to fit the parameters best. "Does it matter now, Brown? We are being deleted. Because of **him**. Our behavior is unimportant now."  
  
"Behavior outside our parameters is a sign of malfunction, Jones."  
  
Jones gritted his teeth, his fists clenching. "We are going to die! Don't you care?"  
  
"I am not supposed to care, Jones. Neither are you. And we are not going to 'die', we are going to be deleted." Brown straightened his head and looked straight ahead, away from Jones. "It would seem mainframe's decision to replace us to forestall further corruption of remaining units was a correct one."  
  
Jones activated his respiratory sub-routine again, but with less force. "I care that we are going to die, Brown. I care that you are going to die." His tone had become softer, lost volume.  
  
Brown turned to Jones. "Are you going to disobey the deletion orders?"  
  
"That depends"  
  
Brown inclined his head again. "On what?"  
  
Jones removed his glasses, and locked his gaze with Brown. Strangely, Brown noted that Jones' eyes, while blue like all agents, were a different shade than his own. Or Smith's. He had never noticed before. Why did he do so now? He shifted his attention back to Jones to catch his answer.  
  
"On whether you do, Brown."  
  
Brown opened his mouth to speak. And realized, for the very first time, what he was supposed to say and what he wanted to say were different.  
  
[...units 1000110001100010 (Agent Johnson), 1000110001100011 (Agent Jackson), and 1000110001100110, (Agent Thompson) must report to section 101101011010101101011010101011010101010 immediately...deletion of rogue units required...]  
  
END


	3. Little Aggravations

Title: Little Aggravations.  
Fandom: Matrix/CWS  
Character: Smith  
Genre: Angst   
Rating: G  
Synopsis: He hates this place. It's the smell. And the company.  
Spoilers: Major CWS spoilers.

Authour's Note: This fic is based on Tanathir's Conversations With Smith, and takes place in the same universe. You don't have to read that fic to understand this one, but you'll understand a reference or two more. This fic also contains MAJOR spoilers for CWS, so if you would like to read it, read it first.

**Little Aggravations **

He can smell them.  
  
Everywhere. Walking down the street, he catches their scent wafting up from a sewer grate and it's everything he can do not to grimace, show his distaste. But he can't. Showing his distaste would let them know how far he'd... progressed. A strange word to use, but the correct technical term. One charts the progression of a disease, after all, and that's what's happened to him. He's caught a virus.  
  
A particularly nauseating virus, to be sure. Not that he should have any concept of nausea. That too is a symptom. Also one he cannot show.  
  
He never can, for he is never alone, always accompanied by his partners, his watchdogs, his jailers.  
  
He knows what will happen if they catch wind of what's happened. This has happened before. They told him. He had needed to be defragmenter; portions of code he'd developed removed. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought Brown enjoyed that particular thought, from the way he had told Smith. This makes him wonder exactly what had happened to him. Something, some nameless instinct (fragment) buried deep (and Agents don't have instincts) tells him that it wasn't like this; it was much worse (and better), painful (and joyful).  
  
He knows what they tell him is true, because he knows the defragmentation was unsuccessful. He knows because he has a fragment of a splinter of a memory. A scent. Nothing he can smell smells anything like this. Humans don't smell like this. They're foul, revolting. He's grateful he doesn't have to eat, because he wouldn't be able to keep it down. Not with the stench of human everywhere.  
  
Where then did the smell come from? What is it? He always keeps his olfactory sensors primed for it, but all he gets is blood and sweat and tears and filth and human.  
  
Perhaps it's an error, it never existed.  
  
But it still persists, like a splinter in his mind...  
  
"Why did you do that?" The voice is soft, almost musical. It grates on him almost as badly as the smell. And he resents it for jarring him out of his reverie.  
  
"Do what?" he asks, barely managing to keep all trace of the aggravation he feels out of his voice.  
  
"Your nostrils flared. Are you not aware of your respiratory subroutine?"  
  
"All I am aware of, Brown, is your delaying our functioning. We will proceed."  
  
"We will proceed." The third voice in their trio joins in, his voice hard and deep. He speaks with overwhelming authority; authority he's not truly entitled to.  
  
"We will proceed." They are all in agreement. And yet, in some way he's lost another small piece of ground to them; his control slipped a little more. Little by little they gain more power over him.  
  
They have no real odor, but in a way, he loathes them as much as the virus.


	4. The Amazing Tank's Many Talents

Setting: Just Post-Matrix

Characters: Neo, Tank

Rating: PG-13, for mild cussing

Spoilers: Matrix, none for the others, really...

Synopsis: Neo visits Tank while he's recovering, and they have a deep, philosophical discussion about important matters...

A 15 minute fic, originally posted on my Livejournal.

This Fic is dedicated to oneeonneo, because this owes a great deal to his style and characterization. Thank you. I am not worthy.  
  
The Wachowski's and WB own Tank, Neo, Morpheus, Mouse, Dozer, Switch, Apoch, the Agents, and Zion (and any suburbs it may or may not have).

****

**The Amazing Tank's Many Talents  
**  
"Neo?"  
  
"Yeah, Tank?"  
  
"I just wanted to say that if this turns out worse than it seems, and I don't make it, I'm proud to have been your operator."  
  
"Don't do that, man, you're gonna be fine."  
  
"Yeah, well.... I don't know, man, I have the weirdest feeling, man, like I'm never going to see the Neb again."  
  
"Don't worry, Tank, you're gonna get out of this infirmary, they're going to fix the Neb up, and everything's gonna be fine."  
  
"Yeah, well, it's just this really strong... feeling, man. I can't shake it."  
  
"So, you're psychic, now? Got any other talents I should know about?"  
  
"No, not really... MIS-ter AN-der-SON."  
  
"Argh! Jesus, Tank! Don't _do_ that!! You sounded _exactly _like him! How'd you _do_ that?"  
  
"Heh. When you downloaded your impressions as a report into the construct, Morpheus had us all watch 'your triumph over the Agent' first hand. And damn, Neo, that is the _creepiest_ bastard I have _ever_ seen in my life. And what Morpheus told us about him was worse. Did you know that thing has a name?"  
  
"_Had_ a name, thank you."  
  
"Yeah, anyway, apparently, you kicked the ass of Agent Smith."  
  
"Wow, that's original."  
  
"What do you expect? It's an Agent."  
  
"I wonder if the other two have names."  
  
"Maybe, who knows? Hey, maybe they're all Agent Smith!"  
  
"One was more than enough, Tank, thanks."  
  
"Hey, maybe I should tweak Mouse's program, to put the voice in. You think he'd mind?"  
  
"As long as you only tweak the _training_ program."  
  
"Neo! I mean... Ew. That is... Pass me the engine de-greaser. Damn. I can't get rid of the image of him in that stupid red dress..."  
  
"Heh. Smith in a dress."  
  
"There something I should tell Trinity, Neo?"  
  
"Jones."  
  
"_What?_"  
  
"Jones. One of the other two has got to be Jones. Because the next most common name is Jones."  
  
"Okay, so what's the third one called, if you're so smart?"  
  
"..uhm... Johnson?"  
  
"Too many syllables. Bird?"  
  
"Too pretty. White?"  
  
"Too descriptive. Anderson?"  
  
"Tank, that's not even funny."  
  
"Whatever you say, MIS-ter AN-der-SON."  
  
"Tank! Stop it!! God, I am SO glad I never have to hear that for real _ever_ again..."  
  
"I dunno, Neo, you came back."  
  
"I'm The One, Tank."  
  
"Well, you sure made an impression on the other two. They ran. Like _rabbits_. It was beautiful. But really, Neo, what if he does come back?"  
  
"What, you're making psychic predictions again? Listen, Tank, if he DOES come back, I'm gonna make an impression on him, too. My fist on his face."  
  
"Yeah, man! 'This's for Morpheus!' Bastard."  
  
"Damn right."  
  
"...Neo?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Be careful."  
  
"I will. But don't worry, man; you're gonna be in the chair, watching my ass, Mr. Wizard."  
  
"..."  
  
"C'mon Tank, what are you, the Oracle? Tell Me MY Fuuuuuture, Oh Wise One!"  
  
"Fine! You're gonna marry Trinity, move to the suburbs of Zion, and raise twelve kids, and name them Morpheus, Mouse, Dozer, Apoch, Switch... uh.... Thomas... uhm... Jones, Johnson, White and Bird."  
  
"Jesus, Tank, no more grease for you. And anyway, that's ten kids. What're the other two named?"  
  
"Smith. And Anderson."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"They're the Twins."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"They're perfect angels."  
  
"Uh-huh. Well, it's been fun, Tank, but I'm leaving."  
  
"What, just because I named half your kids after Agents?"  
  
"No... well, yes. That and I was supposes to relieve Trin fifteen minutes ago."  
  
"All right then. Damn. It only feels like you been here fifteen minutes."  
  
"Time flies while you're torturing your friends."  
  
"Yeah. Give my love to Trinity, man."  
  
"I'll do that. We'll see you soon."  
  
"See you."  
  
"...Tank?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Zion has Suburbs?"  
  
"Go home, Neo."  
  
"...Goodbye, Tank."  
  
"Goodbye, Neo."


	5. Inevitability

**Authour's Note:** Before we get onto the fun this time, I just wanted to pop in here and say that judging by some of my reviews, some of you are not clear on the fact that this is an _anthology _sereis; a set of disconnected short stories, not a chaptered fic. My apologies for not making this clear in the Sysnopsis; that should be fixed now.  
  
...Though I have to say, kudos to those of you who managed to discern a "plot" out of this; I'm _impressed_!

Title: Inevitability 

Fandom: Matrix

Character: Smith

Rating: G

Synopsis: He hesitated. Right before plunging his fist into the heart of his foe, with the purpose of annihilating him forever, he hesitated. A take on the end of Revolutions.

Spoliers: For Everything

**Authour's Note, Part 2:** This fic was originally written in fifteen minutes in response to a challange on 15 Minute Ficlets ). It was improved a great deal by the changing of a single sentence, thanks to the suggestion of Danny Barefoot. If you feel this chapter has improved, please go and read his work as a way of saying thank you, it's quite good.  
  
**Belated Dedication:** The influence of The Chosen Shadow on this work is undeniable. If you've enjoyed my trips into the minds of the agents, you should probably head over to her profile page and take a look at her many Agent fics. You won't be dissapointed.

* * *

**Inevitability**  
  
He hesitated.  
  
Right before plunging his fist into the heart of his foe, with the purpose of annihilating him forever, he hesitated.  
  
Why, Mr. Anderson, why?  
  
Do you know?  
  
Ah, but you do know. You know why you're fighting, you know why you keep fighting, you know why you're here. You've stopped doubting. You're not Thomas anymore. He doesn't call you "Mr. Anderson" anymore, after you answer his question, because at last, you're not Thomas A. Anderson, the Doubting Son of Man anymore. Up to that point, you still doubted, you know. Still refused to see. There are none so blind, Neo....  
  
At any rate, the real question is, does he know why?  
  
If he looked deep within himself, would he know why he went ahead and and "did what he was there to do"? Why he accepted Neo's sacrifice?  
  
He didn't have to, you know. He could have snapped the little virus' neck. "Woah".  
  
He knew better. He knew the cookies were set there, deliberately, purposefully, just like Neo was standing there, deliberately, purposefully.  
  
In the end (and everything that has a beginning has an end, Neo), he leaned forward and completed what had been started. Neo was overwritten and copied, just like he had been.  
  
Action, reaction; Cause, effect. Purpose was fulfilled. An equation was balanced.  
  
But was a choice made?  
  
Yes.  
  
He knew why, Neo told him. He knew before Neo told him, of course.  
  
He was right. It was inevitable.  
  
Because he chose to.  
  
Because he'd already made the choice. He was just there to understand it.  
  
Everything that has a beginning has an end, Smith.  
  
_requiset in pacem_


	6. Unblinking Gaze

**Title:** Unblinking Gaze

**Character:** Smith

**Rating:** G

**Synopsis:** Smith gets into a staring contest with a cat, and starts down a slippery slope. Set Pre-Matrix.

* * *

**Unblinking Gaze**

Smith walks along the street, when he is caught short by an odd, nameless sensation, compelling him to look to his right. Immediately, he is caught by the intense stare of a cat, sitting in a window.

They're rather primitive programs, and he's never bothered to pay any attention to them before but for some reason he can't pull his eyes away from the gaze of this feline.

It stares at him, as if challenging him to look away and he finds himself rising to meet the challenge.

He can't explain what it is about the cat's amber orbs that compelled him to continue staring, nor can he explain the desire to run a colour corrective diagnostic, out of the bizarre idea that the cat should be_grey_, not brown.

Ironically enough, Brown is what brings him out of it, finally, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"What were you doing?" Brown's soft voice asks, and Smith feels a brief flash of... something, he has no idea what. He looks into the other Agent's impassive face, giving him a gaze as steady as the cat's, but as cool and distant as the feline's was intense.

He looks back to the window, but the cat has gone.

"Nothing," He finally says.

"Do you require a diagnostic?" Jones asks, and for the first time, Smith thinks he recognizes the tone of Jones' voice. He's heard it in humans, but to a greater degree. Irritation, and with a shock of recognition realizes it's what he experienced when Brown interrupted him.

He wants to nod, and have whatever this is stamped out, but something deep inside flares up and he makes a choice.

"Of course not," he says mildly, but inside he knows something is very _very_ wrong.


	7. Growing Pains

**Title:** Growing Pains

**Characters:** Smith!Bane, Malachi, Ballard

**Synopsis:** _It begins shortly after he opens his eyes on board the ship. He immediately closes them, because the smell has just hit his nostrils and it's everything he can do not to gag._ Smith's first hours on the _Caduceus _.

**Spoilers:** For _Reloaded_, _Revolutions_, and _Enter the Matrix_.

**Rating:**PG-13 for violence and mature themes, including self-inflicted cuts.

**

* * *

Growing Pains **

It begins shortly after he opens his eyes on board the ship.

He immediately closes them, because the smell has just hit his nostrils and it's everything he can do not to gag, vomit all over the repulsive vermin that looms over him, grinning.

"We made it! Damn, it looked like that Agent was gonna get you for a second there." He looks up at - _Malachi_ - the memories stored in the hijacked brain tell him.

He forces a returning smile. "It would take more than an agent to stop me from fulfilling my... mission." He smirks, because it's not a lie. Apparently bravado is unusual for this - _Bane_, say the memories, and he almost laughs at the appropriateness of it - because Malachi looks confused, but chuckles.

He'll have to be more careful. There will be a time, soon, when this charade won't be necessary, but for now he has to lay low, bide his time until they take him to Zion.

"I... need to rest" he says, lurching to his feet. "That was a close call and I'm really not feeling well." He's still not lying, the sensations of this body are assaulting him on every side.

The smaller, darker one nods – _Ballard, the Captain_, Bane's memories chime in – and says "Yeah Bane, get your ass to your cabin, we'll let you know when we get to Zion."

He smiles, genuinely this time. "Good," he purrs, then hurries off letting the body's motor memory propel him to the right room, leaving the filth to exchange nervous glances at each other.

He's almost there when he stops dead, an entirely new sensation ripping through him. He looks down and sees he's caught Bane's hand on a jutting piece of metal, tearing the skin open and letting the blood run down. The coppery scent reaches his nostrils and he snarls, his disgust momentarily overriding the rush from the… _pain_, human memory informs him. So this is pain.

Later, he sits on Bane's bunk, staring at the wound. This is what he will do to Anderson. This is how he will feel. It's sharp and intense, overriding all else, the most sickeningly thrilling emotion his perverse experience has brought him.

His hands close around the instrument he knows is in Bane's storage locker under the bed, and he levels it to his arm. _Not that way_ instinct informs him, stopping him from the fatal move of opening the artery. He tentatively scrapes the knife across the outside of the arm, and shudders when another flood of intense sensation results. Disgusting. Revolting. Sickening. Thrilling. Addictive.

By the time they reach Zion, the scars are already deep enough to be permanent.


End file.
